


Sewer Gators

by WitchOfTheWestCountry



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-04-01 05:55:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13991889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WitchOfTheWestCountry/pseuds/WitchOfTheWestCountry
Summary: The Sewer Gators have been working together for years, but when their cameraman leaves they need to find another.





	Sewer Gators

**Author's Note:**

> For all those Pete, Andre and Clancy fans.  
> I wanted to explore their origins and some headcanons some friends have had. 
> 
> Clancy isn't here yet but he will be.

“You know what, Darryl? Fuck you, that's what!”

Pete's voice was too loud in the quiet coffee shop, and Andre cringed inwardly as heads turned to look at the commotion.

God knows Pete had good reason to be pissed, but if he could only be a little quieter about it...

Darryl sighed. He'd been psyching himself up for this moment for days, Andre knew, rehearsing his speech, imagining the arguments and every scenario that could come of it, and now it was finally here he looked worn out by it all.

“Pete, listen…” he began wearily, but Pete was in no mood to listen.

The older man’s face bore splotches of hectic colour, and his hand tightened around his cup in a way that threatened to spill his caramel latte all over the table.

“No, you listen, asshole,” Pete began, setting his shoulders ready for a long rant, and Andre winced at his tone.

He’d been friends with Pete long enough by now to know that he was only getting started, and even though he privately thought that Darryl had it coming, he still bore some sympathy for him.

To both his and Pete’s shock, though, Darryl interrupted him.

“No, Pete. I'm really sorry, you have to believe that, but you won't change my mind. I'm leaving and that's that.”

Taken aback by the insurrection, Pete was momentarily speechless, but his rage was too great to be sidetracked. He pressed his lips together, taking a visible hold of himself.

“Darryl, how long have we known each other?”

Darryl waved a dismissive hand.

“Whatever you've got to say, Pete, I know it all. But that doesn't change facts. I'm tired of sneaking round in the dark looking for cold spots. I'm tired of breaking into places we have no business being. And I'm tired of getting a whole chunk of decent footage that we can't even show. Pete, this new job is serious, and it pays me a good wage. And even if it doesn't work out, it'll be a step up on the ladder for me. I'm sorry.”

Andre watched Pete deflate. Behind his gruff exterior, the man was more sensitive than he showed, and he knew that Darryl’s defection hurt him on more than a business level.

Darryl must have seen it too, as when he spoke again it was more gentle.

“Look, I'll always be grateful to you and Andre for helping me get a start, but this is too good an opportunity to miss. Give me one good reason why I should pass it up!”

“I don't know,” said Pete bitterly, looking at the glossy table top. “Loyalty, maybe. Friendship. The fact that we're a fucking team! Just do me a favour and fuck off, Darryl. I don't want to hear any more of your shit.”

Darryl opened his mouth to reply, but Andre touched his arm, shaking his head surreptitiously.

“Just go,” he mouthed.

Darryl nodded miserably and got to his feet, digging into his pocket for his wallet.

“Let me at least get this,” he said, rifling through banknotes as he glanced at the check.

“We don't need your fucking money!” hissed Pete. “Just like we don't need you. We'll get another cameraman. A better one! Then you’ll be sorry….”

Glowering, Pete hunched over his cup, staring into the depths of his coffee, and Andre watched Darryl walk away.

“Pete - “

“Can you believe that fucking guy? After all these years, he does this to us. Fucking ‘serious documentaries’, huh? What does he think we're doing? He think I don't take this seriously?”

“I'm sure he doesn't mean it like that….” soothed Andre, but Pete plowed on over the top of him.

“He was a shitty cameraman anyway. Right? And a chickenshit. Remember how he nearly crapped his pants in the asylum that time? Nearly did a four-minute mile he ran out of there so fast!”

Pete slumped back in his seat, rubbing his eyes.

“Well, good riddance to him. Loser. Andre, start looking for another camera guy. Someone who'll gel well. Someone with balls.”

Andre produced his phone, relieved that Pete had decided to focus on practicalities rather than spite.

“I already have some numbers shortlisted,” he said, scrolling through his contacts. “There's a guy in - “

“Wait. You've already started considering candidates?” demanded Pete sharply. “You knew Darryl was planning on quitting?”

Andre squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, crushed by the look of betrayal on his friend's face.

“He mentioned he was looking,” he said. “I saw he was getting restless. So I just thought…..”

“You knew! Jesus fuck, Andre, you knew and you didn't tell me!”

More heads turned, faces looking disapprovingly in their direction.

“Keep your voice down,” begged Andre. “I've got your back, Pete. You know that. Okay, so maybe I did know. He wanted me to tell you. But I wouldn't. That's the kind of thing you have to do yourself. Doesn't mean it's my fault.”

Pete shook his head, only partially mollified. He looked close to tears, something that Andre knew must be making him self-conscious, but once Pete got going it was hard for him to wind down and with Darryl gone Andre was bound to bear the brunt of it.

“Just start calling people,” he said sadly. “We need someone reliable.”

 

“How did he take it?”

Helena sat in her darkened bedroom, curtains pulled against the outside world, phone close to her ear. There were notes scattered all over her bed - episode plans, potential locations to investigate, but also a fair amount of doodles, ones she would be mortified if anyone saw.

“Not good,” said Andre. “But we knew he wouldn't. He's resilient though. He'll bounce back….”

Helena nodded to herself, even though she knew Andre couldn't see. She knew Pete better than he thought.

She kicked her legs out on the bed, flipping a scrap of paper over. It bore a large ballpoint heart, sketched jaggedly, with her name and Pete's scrawled in the middle.

Even in her room by herself she felt herself blush. She'd gotten drunk last night, overcome with sentimentality, and the scribbles had been the result.

She pushed the paper off her bed with her toe so she wouldn't have to look at it.

“So what now?” she asked.

She could almost feel Andre shrug through the phone.

“I already started calling round,” he said. “Got a couple of possibles lined up for interviews. But don't you worry about that. I'll handle it. You got any ideas for the next few episodes?”

Helena scrabbled through her paperwork.

“As a matter of fact, I have. There are some old army barracks, and a fire station, but I found a really interesting one on Reddit. The thread’s closed now but some people were talking about a place in Dulvey - the old Baker Mansion. It's been abandoned for nearly three years but it's gained a reputation for being haunted. The locals have been seeing lights out there, hearing screams….”

“All of those sound good,” said Andre, sounding brighter than before. “Keep on with the research, and I'll get started with the interviews. And thanks for all the support. You know what Pete's like.”

“Yes, I do….” sighed Helena, looking at the framed promotional photo of the Sewer Gators she kept by her bed. There was a lipstick smudge on the glass over Pete's face that hadn’t been there the day before and she cringed. She couldn't remember kissing his picture last night.

“I'll keep you posted, Helena. Bye.”

 

Helena hung up, frowning as she scrubbed the smear of lipstick off the photo. She'd been really drunk….

It was her favourite picture of him, taken years earlier before the first touches of grey had started showing up in his beard and hair. He looked full of hope and enthusiasm, his dreams still buoying him up, and ambitions on the brink of being fulfilled…

His jacket sleeves were too long in the picture, just touching his knuckles, and his jeans were baggy according to the fashions of the year, but Helena found those details unspeakably endearing. He had one hand on Darryl’s shoulder in a gesture of comradeship that hurt her to look at now, and even though she understood the cameraman's reasons for leaving she still felt a sudden flush of anger at him.

But Pete still had her. And Andre. Neither of them were about to desert him. Not when both of them were secretly in love with him and had been for the longest time….

When had she fallen for him? she wondered. It certainly hadn't been the first time they'd met.

 

_ Helena had seen the notice, printed on garish pink paper in the window of the grocery store 2 years ago. _

_ “PSYCHIC NEEDED!” it proclaimed in a hearty, good-humoured font.  _

_ Underneath, there was simply a row of dollar signs, and under that a phone number and name. _

_ Helena considered it. Funds were low right now and there was a convention drawing closer - she needed money for her cosplay materials, plus her laptop was on its last legs. _

_ The notice didn't hint at why a psychic was needed, but at that point she couldn't afford to be picky. She'd been paid for experiments in the past, and for private consultations. As long as it wasn't a police investigation, she was willing to try her luck. _

_ She called the number. _

 

_ Andre met her at the address she'd been given. She'd left details with her friends in case the Sewer Gators turned out to be a group of psychos, but Andre seemed normal enough. Although so had Ted Bundy. _

_ “Helena?” _

_ He seized her hand before she had chance to respond, and there was a slight desperation to his handshake. _

_ “Boy, am I glad to see you. We've had five other people come see us this afternoon and they were...interesting. Come on in!” _

_ Helena stepped cautiously over the threshold. She was in a dilapidated looking office with three desks that looked like it had been set up in a rush. She hoped it wasn't a front for something sinister. _

_ “We're conducting interviews in the back room,” said Andre. “You're the last one, and I have to say you look promising. And you're British, huh? Sounds classy! We were hoping for someone young, too. How old are you?” _

_ “24,” said Helena, peering into the back room. There was a table with four chairs around it and a man sat in one practising tricks with a yoyo. _

_ “Aw that's great. The others were too old...and freaky….” _

_ He suppressed a shudder. _

_ “Anyway, go on in. Darryl’s already in there, Pete should join us in a moment.” _

_ Helena sat down opposite Darryl who wound the string around his yoyo reluctantly and gave her a nod by way of greeting. _

_ “Darryl, this is Helena. Helena, Darryl. Darryl’s our cameraman.” _

_ “Cameraman? What is it you actually do? The notice didn't say…” _

_ Andre sighed. _

_ “Yeah, I wanted to put more information on that, but Pete wanted it short and snappy. We do paranormal investigations on an internet show, exploring abandoned buildings, but so far we haven't been very successful. We thought maybe if we had someone sensitive to accompany us, maybe give us some guidance, we might do better at finding some evidence.” _

_ “You thought that, Andre, not me,” said a voice, and a short bearded man swept into the room. _

_ “Ah. Helena, this is Pete, our presenter…” said Andre. _

_ Helena eyed the newcomer nervously. He may have been fairly small in stature but he had an aura that seemed to stretch several yards out, a presence that demanded attention. _

_ He glowered at her. _

_ “So you're a psychic?” _

_ He leaned over the table, resting his hands on the surface, and brought his face up to hers, eyes widening. _

_ “What am I thinking?” he challenged. _

_ Helena stared at him. The intensity of his gaze was intimidating, but she was more pissed off than anything. _

_ “It doesn't work like that…..” she told him. _

_ He straightened, a small smirk playing over his lips, and flashed an “I-told-you-so” glance at Andre which irked Helena even more. _

_ “You're thinking: ‘What is this, a boy or a girl?’,” she said, glaring at him. _

_ He looked startled for a moment, and she laughed. _

_ “I didn't get that from your mind,” she said. “It's what most people think when they see me. I've got an androgynous face.” _

_ She shrugged to show it didn't bother her. _

_ “I'm female, in case you were wondering.” _

_ His expression softened. _

_ “I wasn't thinking that….” he said. “I can tell you're a woman. And I probably gave you the wrong impression. I'm not an asshole…” _

_ He stopped. _

_ “Not a complete asshole,” he corrected. “But you're the sixth person we've seen today and the others were a bunch of whackos. So, y’know….I need some proof you're the real deal.” _

_ “Well, I'm not a mind-reader. I'm a psychic and medium. If you want proof, why don't you ask me about the man standing behind you?” _

_ Pete flinched and jerked around in his seat, shoulders lifting defensively. _

_ “I can't….who’s there?” _

_ “A man with a beard. Longer than yours. He was short sighted but he was too vain to wear glasses. He's smoking a cigar and has a scar on the back of his left hand.” She frowned. “He says his name is Wilfred but you were named after him…?” _

_ “Wilfred Walken,” said Pete softly. _

_ He was looking at her wide-eyed again, but this time his gaze carried awe instead of confrontation. _

_ “Wilfred Peter Walken. My grandfather,” he said. “I have to say, I'm impressed. Does he have anything else to say?” _

_ “Only that Sewer Gators is a stupid name.” _

_ Pete laughed. _

_ “Yeah, that was Andre’s choice. He won the vote. I wanted something more...supernatural. We're not about urban myths - We we want proof of the paranormal. Sewer Gators makes it sound like we chase cryptids or some bullshit like that.” _

_ “Hey!” protested Andre, and Pete waved a hand at him. _

_ “Come on, Andre!” He scoffed. “We agreed: No fucking mythical beasts. No sasquatch, no mothman, no fucking chupacabra. That's a fucking stretch too far!” _

_ Andre subsided, grumbling, and when Pete turned back to Helena he looked a lot more cheerful. _

_ “I gotta say, I'm impressed so far, but there's one last thing we need to do. How would you feel about coming out to a location with us so we can get a feel for how you work?’ _

_ Helena regarded the three eager, hopeful faces opposite her, and sighed. _

_ “I suppose so,” she said. “Where will it be?” _

 

_ It turned out to be a dilapidated old house set back from the road, tall and narrow and painted a dull red that had faded over time to the colour of old menstrual blood. _

_ Helena had no doubt that it had been a grand place at one time, upmarket and owned by someone wealthy, but now it looked like Dorian Gray in his portrait in the attic. _

_ “This place is over a hundred years old!” said Pete with muted pride. _

_ Helena shrugged. _

_ “I'm English. I've drunk beer in places older than that.” _

_ “Yeah, well….maybe so but this place is special. Has a grim history to it. My family owns it, but nobody goes in there any more. Except me. It was the reason I got into the paranormal in the first place - I saw something here. Shall we go in?” _

_ Helena nodded. The place was giving her a bad vibe. She was used to spirits now, and the feelings they gave off, but the ones that inhabited this house didn't give off good ones. _

_ “I'm not going to tell you anything about the house,” continued Pete, digging into his jacket for a set of keys. “I wanna see what you can pick up. See if you're the real deal.” _

_ Andre was watching her with some concern, but Darryl was looking off into the distance, apparently disinterested. _

_ “Are you okay?” asked Andre. _

_ Pete looked round, his face full of bright interest. _

_ “You getting some signals already? That's great! What are you feeling?” _

_ Helena felt her shoulders hunch, as if from the cold, though the day was warm enough. It was difficult sometimes to put a proper word to her emotions but she did her best. _

_ “I feel….exposed,” she told him finally. “Agoraphobic. I feel like people are looking at me - not from the house….but from around? From the neighbouring houses?” _

_ She frowned, looked around. There was nobody else on the street but she could still feel eyes on her, staring and accusing. _

_ “So far so good,” said Pete, apparently happy with her reaction. “Come on - we'll go in.” _

_ They started to cross the road, and the vulnerable feeling of being watched  got stronger. Helena pulled her hood up over her head, but it wasn't enough - she wanted something to cover her face, something to hide behind. _

_ They were going up to the front door - stone steps leading to a pillared porch, but she stopped at the foot of them, unable to continue. _

_ “I can't go up there,” she said, and she heard someone - she thought it was Darryl - snort. _

_ “If you can't go in, that's fine,” said Andre, but he sounded disappointed. _

_ “What's stopping you?” _

_ Pete was more direct, getting in front of her and peering under her hood. He looked fascinated rather than accusing, wanting answers. _

_ “It's not that I can't go in at all,” she explained. “It's just that I can't go in that way. It feels wrong. Feels like I'll get into trouble if I go up to the front door.” _

_ She craned her neck, looking around Pete and around the side of the house. There was a potholed driveway sweeping around the corner, its cracked surface studded with weeds. _

_ “Is there a back way?” she asked. “Is feel like I need to go around the back….” _

_ “Sure there is!” _

_ Pete was smiling, looking pleased. He led the way, watching his step on the uneven asphalt. Helena followed carefully, her emotions roiling. She hadn't needed Pete to tell her there was a grim.history to this building - it was in the ground beneath her feet, soaked in like floodwater. It was in the bricks and mortar, part of the very structure. _

_ The backyard was a jungle of waist high grass and sprawling vines that clambered up the high stone walls. The back of the house was smothered in ivy, suffocating it, choking the windows as it closed over, but that was good: The house should be stifled; should be overgrown and taken back into the earth like a rotting corpse. _

_ Helena shuddered. _

_ There was a peeling back door set in the centre of the wall, but even that felt out of bounds. _

_ Helena advanced along the crumbling path that disappeared into the undergrowth, and spotted another door beneath ground level, slanted steps leading down to it. The garden had all but reclaimed this doorway, crowding it possessively. _

_ “Do you have a key for that door?” she asked. _

_ “Yeah, I do,” said Pete. “What's so special about that door though?” _

_ “I feel like that's the way in for me,” she told him. “The only way.” _

_ Pete shuffled through the bunch of keys he held, trying to find the right one, whilst Andre headed towards the steps, ripping weeds aside to clear the way. _

_ Darryl was finally taking some interest, watching her keenly. _

_ “What do you feel now?” he asked. _

_ “Lots of things. None of them good.” _

_ Helena struggled to find the right words. _

_ “I feel….guilt. Shame. Fear - no, not fear: Dread. Horrible dread, like something terrible is about to happen. But I also feel trapped - like it has to happen, like I have no choice. And that I probably deserve it.” _

_ There was wetness on her cheeks - tears slipping from her eyes and rolling down her face - but she paid them little attention. She often cried when she was connecting with her ability, a natural reaction to the overwhelming intensity, a way of releasing it all. She wiped the tears away with the back of her hand absently, vaguely aware of Pete staring at her with concern and possibly compassion. He seemed like he was about to say something, offer some kind of consolation, but she didn't want that. It wasn't necessary. She wanted to explore, get answers. _

_ “Lots of people came here,” she said, speaking before Pete could. “Women. All scared and desperate. I can feel them, like a tide going past me, going to that door. This is where they entered the house. Some of them never came out.” _

_ Pete and Andre were exchanging meaningful glances, and she almost smiled. They had been skeptical of her, but she was obviously saying the right things. _

_ Doubting Thomases, all three of them. _

_ Andre had managed to fight his way through and Pete descended the steps, rattling the key in the lock. It unlocked after some effort, but damp had warped and swelled the wood and Pete leaned his full weight against it, gritting his teeth. _

_ “Here - let me.” _

_ Andre nudged Pete gently aside, getting a choke hold on the handle and shunting his shoulder up to the door. The wood squealed and scraped along the floor, creaking ominously, but it surrendered by degrees, reluctantly opening up. _

_ “I could have done that!” Pete complained. _

_ “I know,” said Andre placidly. “I didn't want you to ruin your good jacket.” _

_ The space beyond the door was dark and smelled like years of damp, dust and rot. It was in no way welcoming, but Pete barged in anyway, waving his hand in front of his face to dispel the motes that drifted in front of his face. _

_ “It's kinda shitty down here,” he said. “We keep the upper parts maintained but don't bother with this part so much. Andre, did you bring a flashlight?” _

_ “You didn't tell me to!” _

_ “Jesus fuck, have I got to do everything round here?” _

_ “I've got one,” said Helena. _

_ It was a tiny thing on her keychain, but it was enough to see them through the first room and over the junk scattered over the floor. _

_ She went in front despite the churning in her guts, picking her way across the littered floor. There was a short corridor beyond, faded paper peeling in long tendrils from the walls, and Helena steered them into the first room on the right. _

_ The room had a wooden table in the centre, it's surface dark and stained, and although Helena was prepared to get close to it nothing on her could have persuaded her to touch it. The grain of the wood was black with old bloodstains, and there were mouldering loops of rope tied to the legs on the far end. _

_ “This was where he did it,” she said. _

_ “Did what?” Pete asked, but she knew that he knew. _

_ “The abortions,” she said. “Hundreds of them. Desperate women with no other option, paying him whatever they could afford. A few pennies. They'd come through the back door, the door only they used, and they be brought here, terrified and hopeless. No anaesthetic. No pain relief. And he'd crank them open and scrape them out.” _

_ “Who did?” asked Andre. _

_ Helena turned, glancing at Pete. _

_ “An ancestor?” she asked. “Tall man. Long moustache like a walrus.” _

_ She could feel it on her face, a heavy thing that drooped past the corners of her mouth, and traced it's outline with her hands. _

_ “Tall,” said Darryl, and sniggered. “You didn't take after him then, Pete.” _

_ “Shut the fuck up,” said Pete. “You said something women never left?” _

_ “They bled to death,” reported Helena. “Nothing to be done. He had servants that would take their bodies and dump them far from here. Other women died at home - either bled out or got an infection.” _

_ She could feel a pain centred on her womb, dull at first but getting sharper the longer they stayed. _

_ “I need to get out of this room,” she said, putting her hand on her belly. “Their pain….I can feel it.” _

_ She pushed past the men, fleeing that depressing hole of a room, advancing along the corridor. There was another doorway further along. _

_ “A recover room,” she told them, peering through. “Women with a few more pennies to spare would be allowed to rest here awhile. Otherwise they were pushed back out of the door, their underwear pinned to the shoulder of their dress.” _

_ “Are you sure it's this room?” asked Pete. “Not the one across the hall?” _

_ Helena turned, shining her pitiful light into the black cave of the room behind her. There was a rusted bed frame in there, springs exposed. _

_ “No, it was definitely this one,” she decided, turning back. “The bed was moved.” _

_ Pete beamed at her, and she knew at that moment she'd passed his test. She carried on though, drawn by the stories of the women who had ended up there. _

_ “So he was some kind of local hero to single women?” asked Darryl. “Doing a service?” _

_ “Oh, no!” said Helena. “No no no. He was a horrible man. He did it because he enjoyed it….He had medical qualifications but he was a sadist. Liked to see people suffer. Liked to feel powerful.” _

_ She looked at Pete. _

_ “I'm guessing you know this?” _

_ “Most of it. Not the details, obviously. Is there anything else you can tell us? Like, are any of the women who died here haunting the place?” _

_ Helena closed her eyes, reaching out across planes, feeling for the forgotten women. _

_ “No,” she said with relief. “They've left echoes behind, all the emotions they felt, but they've moved on. If anybody has seen one of them, it's just a copy - an imprint. It's the difference between ghosts and spirits: Spirits are sentient, ghosts are just recordings on time. I'm glad: If any of them were trapped here I would have suggested you burn the place down.” _

_ “But the place is haunted, right?” asked Pete. _

_ It wasn't a casual question: He wanted reassurance, she sensed. Confirmation. _

_ “Yes.  _ He _ is still here,” she said. “He's up there, lingering. He won't move on. He was a terrible person in life. He scared everyone - his wife, his children. The servants. He doesn't want to leave because he's scared of what waits for him. And that makes him angry.” _

_ Pete was nodding slowly. _

_ “I saw him when I was a teenager,” he said. “Upstairs. We were going to convert the place into apartments. I was walking around here trying to see how it could be done, and I saw him. Just standing there, staring at me. Thought I was going crazy, kept blinking, but he was still there when I opened my eyes. Then he rushed at me. I nearly shit myself. Disappeared before he reached me, and I fell over backwards, but I felt what you said: Fear and anger. And a sick sense of humour. He found it funny that he'd scared me.” _

_ “Yeah, he would,” said Helena. “He's an asshole.” _

_ There was a crash overhead, something falling and smashing, and the men flinched, but Helena smiled grimly. _

_ “That was him. I’d rather not go up there if it's all the same to you. He hated women, and he hates me. If I were to go up there, something would happen.” _

_ “No, it's fine,” said Pete, glancing up at the ceiling with a discomfited expression. “You've done enough. Let's get out of here.” _

_ The went outside, all four of them grateful to be out in the fresh air. Without discussion they started to walk away up the driveway, and the further they got from the house the lighter their mood became. _

_ Once they were a safe distance, Pete spoke. _

_ “Well, I don't know about the other guys, but I for one am very impressed. You're the real thing, and if it's okay with Darryl and Andre, I'd like to offer you the job. What do you say, Helena? You wanna join the Sewer Gators?” _

_ Helena looked at Pete and smiled. He may have come across as a complete dick at first but she was starting to warm to him. There was more to him than met the eye - she could feel it - and she was interested to discover his hidden depths. Andre was a sweetheart, and Darryl she was sure she'd get used to. _

_ She came to a decision. _

_ “Okay,” she said. “What have I got to lose?” _

 

It turned out, it was a lot.


End file.
